Tears of the Moon (44 page)

Mabel duly arrived at the hotel on the day arranged. Settling the folds of her sari about her round body, she said politely, ‘How can I help you, Amy?’

‘It’s Johnny, he has become very … difficult. He drinks more than is good for him … ’

‘He’s always hit the bottle when he’s down.’

‘Well, he has been muttering about business being bad. They haven’t found any pearls … ’

‘That’s not so!’ Mabel bit her tongue and let Amy continue.

Amy dropped her head and lowered her voice. ‘Sometimes I fear for my safety. I know he resents me … but he is my husband, what am I to do? I don’t wish to leave him. I just want to make him happy. And he spurns me so … ’

‘Oh my dear … ’ Mabel looked at the brimming blue eyes now gazing forlornly at her. Had she mis-judged Amy? ‘I really don’t know what advice to offer. I know it’s hard to accept, but time, you know, is a great healer.’

‘I am prepared to wait. I just wondered if he had other problems he wasn’t sharing with me … troubles with the business perhaps. But you say Mr Metta says they are doing well?’

‘Oh yes, you have no worries on that score.’

‘That’s a relief then. I’d wondered, what with still having to pay Mrs Hennessy such a large portion of the profits … never mind, I’ll have to try and cheer him up as best as I can then.’

Mabel’s sympathy immediately evaporated. ‘Mrs Hennessy is a part-owner and has always reinvested much of her earnings back into the company, as I understand it,’ she said tersely. ‘Not that I wish to gossip about the private affairs of good friends.’ She rose. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay for lunch. I have to see to the children.’

Mabel departed, furious at being manipulated by Amy. She hoped she hadn’t said too much, for Tobias
had told her Star of the Sea had reaped some excellent pearls this season. And she knew Tyndall tried to keep such matters to himself.

Amy went ahead and ordered lunch, aware she had ruffled Mabel, but satisfied at extracting the information she wanted.

It was then that Karl Gunther happened by and paused at her table on the verandah.

‘Dining alone, Mrs Tyndall?’

She looked at him, saw the challenging smile lurking at his mouth, and tossed her head. ‘I was thinking you might like to join me—Mr Gunther.’

‘Seeing as how we seem to already know each other, in a fashion … I’d be delighted.’ He slid into the seat opposite and settled himself like an old torn cat before a bowl of cream.

They were as different as two people could be, yet, between the melting blonde woman with wide china-blue eyes and the dark-eyed rough diamond, there smouldered a recognition that within them both ran a streak of self-interest and self-preservation. Both were ruthless, both were ambitious, both were fearless risk takers, if needs be. For him, a pretty woman was always a challenge to be conquered. For her, the dandy had never appealed. Aggressive, rough lovers had been ultimately more fulfilling than the wealthy, aged fops like Lord Campbell.

Danger appealed to Amy and as the lunch progressed she began to see she might have found a match in Gunther. Beneath the banter, the exaggerated and glossed half-truths of edited life stories,
each was wondering how they could use the other. For despite the sexual undercurrent that zapped between them on one level, each began to think the other could be a means to an end.

Tobias Metta, expecting his wife to be dining with Amy as planned, stepped out onto the verandah, but seeing Amy in animated conversation with Karl Gunther, he made a hasty and worried exit.

When Tyndall heard of this sighting, he at first found it hard to believe that the man who had been the nemesis of the women in his life had struck yet again. For a moment he was almost glad the two had made contact, it seemed somehow logical Amy would find something appealing in the blackguard. And maybe he had recognised the same streak in Amy. Each on their own was a potential threat, together they could be a deadly team.

Tyndall stormed to the house and shouted at Amy for belittling, embarrassing and shaming him in public.

‘Why, Johnny, surely you’re not jealous,’ she grinned.

Olivia’s words came back to him. ‘Listen Amy, while you are here in Broome, what you do reflects on me and the company. Furthermore, that man is not what you may think, he’s responsible for some vile acts.’

‘Really? Like what?’ She raised her eyebrows in feigned amused interest.

Tyndall ignored her question. ‘I forbid you to see him again—for your sake, Amy.’ He turned away.

‘Is there a more suitable gentleman you could recommend I have a discreet dalliance with then?’ The smile still twitched at her mouth and for a moment he couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.

‘Why don’t you just leave, Amy? There’s no future for us. You’re wasting your time. Find yourself a proper husband.’

‘I have one. Although he doesn’t treat me like a wife. You do have marital rights you know.’ She dropped her eyes and Tyndall glared at her. How did she manage to sound so demure and yet look so provocative?

One night, drunk, lonely and longing for Olivia’s arms he had felt overwhelmed by sheer sexual urge and had walked to the house. He had stood, looking up at the lattice-screened dovecote built at the top of the house for such hot humid nights. Knowing Amy was asleep up there, he’d been tempted to go to her, but desire had turned to bitter anger and he’d resorted to Sheba Lane. There, as thoughts of Olivia flooded through him, he had wilted, sadness and hopelessness replacing the fierce fires of passion and he trudged dispiritedly back to his own empty bed.

Looking now at Amy, it was as if she knew about this and that one day she knew he might succumb to her. But she merely replied, ‘I have nowhere else to go, Johnny. I’ll wait.’

Tyndall left, defeated. There was no more to say.

But Amy was far from triumphant. The brazen facade with which she challenged him fell away and she retreated to the bedroom. Falling amongst her pillows, she glanced out at the bay below. The tide
was out. Green mangroves and grey skeletons of dead mangrove trees rose from the mudflats. She suddenly felt as if a moat lay between her and the rest of the world. She felt trapped, bored and lonely. Why did she stay? She had been unable to seduce Tyndall and he still controlled the finances. If she could get her hands on the money, which had been her original intention, she could escape. Her dream of teaming up with her handsome husband and leading a life of luxury and excitement in Australia had not come to pass. She had always seen Tyndall as a ticket to a better life, yet in her eyes he had failed her. In the past, she had grasped many opportunities in a life dictated by lust and greed, but they had proved only temporary indulgences.

As she tossed restlessly on the bed, she realised that her options for happiness in Broome were very limited indeed.

Tyndall was fed up. His anger, frustration and the constant worry about what Amy was up to—for she created agitated waves about her as she sailed through her days—were getting him down. As always, his solution was to go to sea.

He left Ahmed ashore, taking the
Shamrock
with a minimum of crew out to the pearling grounds to victual his luggers and try the grounds further north once more. It was agreed that Ahmed would rendezvous with him in four weeks’ time.

The trip proved a blessed relief for Tyndall. The companionship of the crew, the routine of the days at sea, the peace that always came to him as he
looked across blue water and cloud-tinged sky. The steady rhythmic movement of the boat, the rattle of the rigging and the sighing flap of a wind-filled sail—all these things calmed his aching mind.

After two weeks Tyndall decided to leave the rest of the fleet and do a little searching up towards the Lapecede Islands.

It was easy sailing for the first two days, then the weather closed in. Rain and high winds lashed the
Shamrock
, but it ploughed gamely on as Tyndall checked the chart and gave instructions to the first mate.

Late that night Tyndall checked course, spoke to the crew, then went below to snatch a few hours’ sleep. ‘Wake me if the wind rises or the swell gets worse, we could run into a cockeye bob.’

‘Aye aye, Cap’n. No worries.’ The thin and dark-skinned Koepanger gave a confident grin.

He never did get a chance to wake Tyndall. The
Shamrock
was picked up by a freak wave in the storm, breached and was flung beam on into a reef with a sickening crunch. The impact threw the two men on deck off balance and the next wave washed them overboard. Waves lashed over the schooner which lay on its side, the sharp edges of the reef slicing through the wood. A stockily built Manilaman crawled out of the hatch. At that instant, one of the dinghies broke loose and crashed into him, knocking him unconscious and pushing him into the sea. The dinghy then splintered and was swept away. All men were lost from sight in seconds, leaving Tyndall alone on the shattered
schooner. He crawled along the deck, now tilted at forty-five degrees, and groped for the rope still securing the second dinghy. In the darkness, grey waves and stinging rain beat at him as he fumbled with the knots. At last the dinghy gave way. He flung himself into it as the
Shamrock
began to roll. It started to break up as it was sucked down by a wall of water. In its wake, the dinghy was almost immediately swamped.

Tyndall lay in the half-submerged little boat, watching the black shape of his beloved schooner disintegrate with a wail of splintering wood and disappear from sight. He wept and screamed his fury at the sea and the storm.

Amy knew she was secretly looking for him. She set out each day about the town visiting the dressmaker, stopping at The White Lotus, browsing through Streeter and Male, walking along Dampier Terrace, and taking afternoon tea at the Continental.

She had just decided he’d slipped out of port when on her way home she decided to stroll along Streeter’s Jetty. She saw him standing on the deck of a black ketch with red sails, berating a cowering Malay. His shirtsleeves were rolled up his muscular arms and thick black hair protruded at the base of his throat. He saw her but didn’t acknowledge her presence other than to give the man a clip over the ears and send him scuttling away. Amy put her parasol on the other shoulder, turned and walked back along the jetty, slowly. Swinging onto the jetty, he strolled along behind her until they reached the street. He moved up beside her.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Tyndall,’ he greeted her.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Gunther.’

‘Going anywhere in particular?’

‘Just out strolling. I’ve had a busy day.’

‘While the cat’s away, eh?’

She gave him an arch look. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

He gave a brief laugh. ‘You’re all on your own, why not join me for dinner?’

It was a casual invitation but as they glanced at each other Amy knew they were at a juncture. It was up to her to decide which road to take.

‘That wouldn’t appear seemly, what with my husband away,’ she replied.

‘Depends who knows. Maybe it’s a business meeting. I conduct my private dealings in private. At the Cable Palace.’

‘What or where is that?’

‘A very large, very private home over on Cable Beach. You’d find the owners interesting people, I’m sure.’

‘I didn’t think there was anyone interesting in Broome. It sounds intriguing.’

‘I’ll send one of my men to collect you. Say seven?’

‘Will I be safe do you think?’ She gave a coquettish toss of her head.

‘I think you are a woman who can look after herself. I like that. Bring one of your staff if you feel so inclined.’ He nodded curtly and wheeled away from her in the opposite direction.

Amy watched him go, feeling slightly faint, with
nerves or anticipation, she couldn’t decide. He really was an ugly man, barrel-built, squat and muscular, oily skin and hair, his body covered in the same thick dark hair. The black eyes had no warmth, the voice was harsh with traces of his guttural accent, yet he radiated an animal-like magnetism that drew her to him like a spider in a web. Amy chuckled to herself at the picture of Karl Gunther as a hairy black spider in the middle of a web, thinking he was all powerful. ‘Hah, Mr Gunther, have you ever heard of black widow spiders? The females devour the males!’ she said to herself.

Feeling assured of her invincibility, Amy set off for home deciding which particularly alluring dress she’d wear for her secret rendezvous.

The Aboriginal women arrived at the coast before the men. Maya always loved this season when they camped by the huge shell middens where generations had feasted on shellfish. The ceremonies held here were different to those performed in the desert. For Maya this was a special place. When they arrived she always walked down to the water’s edge and stood with her feet in the ocean, feeling the watery link stretching between this shore and some faraway land of her ancestors across the sea. It was an unconscious symbolic touching of her mother and made her feel happy.

The memories of her mother had faded from the forefront of her mind these past two years, but impressions and senses and feelings of her were pressed into Maya’s essential being … on her skin, in her heart and in that special part of her soul.

She walked out of the water and sat on the sand, watching the very little children play close by while the women began setting up camp and searching for food. Maya examined her feet, now protected by a thick tough pad. So much walking. The clan had travelled over vast distances, following the seasons and traditional food gathering patterns that hadn’t changed for centuries. They camped while food and water were plentiful, moving on to the next site of robust growth, where the cycle was repeated.